Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
Virtually our entire trip south from Palmyra to Samoa had been dogged by light winds and
calms. However, now that the tall Matai mountain range surrounding Pago Pago harbor
could be seen, the wind suddenly picked up and by the following morning, barely a few
miles out of the harbor mouth, the wind was gusting around fifteen to twenty knots from
the south thanks to a high that must have been hovering to the northwest over the Samoan
island chain. It was typical; I could see Déjà vu and her crew haring about the harbor, seem-
ingly out of control, sheets flying willy nilly, sails rattling and flogging dangerously, the
boat heeled over almost to the point of capsizing, narrowly missing million dollar boats
clustered and gleaming all over a tiny harbor, while horrified owners and crew scurried
about yelling advice and obscenities, desperately attempting to save their boats with bunk
cushions, car tires and bales of anchor warp, with a wild eyed skipper, white in the face,
staring rigidly ahead. I wasn't that wrong, as it turned out.
We were now a couple of hundred yards out and already we had fenders over the sides,
mooring warps ready to cast out on the starboard side onto the little wooden visitor's dock.
I had radioed ahead and had spoken to the harbormaster, coincidentally also a John Reid.
He didn't sound terribly friendly but very official and American. I imagine he must have
raised his eyes to the heavens when I told him of our plight, “Roger Déjà vu, Romeo Sierra
Alfa two two zero, copy your position, proceed slowly to the small boat jetty on the left of
the harbor,” he sighed. By radioing ahead, I had warned some of the more vigilant sailors
who may have had their radios on of our situation as well.
Now, as we negotiated the entrance of the little bay, I could feel the wind freshen behind
my ears. Great, it was directly behind us and straight ahead lay Whale Rock, threatening
and ominous, surrounded by a turmoil of white foaming water. I aimed our bow to weather
of this underwater peril and promptly jibed the main! The boom flew about at a terrible
speed, narrowly missing Penny, “Jesus Chrisssssst!” she spat predictably, just ducking in
time, “Would you mind warning me the next time you are coming about, Jon?”
“I'm sorry! It wasn't intentional; we jibed accidentally!” I yelled back tensely.
“No shit!” she said, shaking her head in disbelief.
I had other things on my mind at this point; the main had jibed over on the starboard tack,
and I helmed up slightly to wind to prevent the boom from returning. This now put me in a
situation where I would run out of sea room soon, as I noticed the land side of the channel
approaching quickly. I could see cars on the surrounding road; I needed to jibe or come
about again, but I would then have Whale Rock looming up on the new proposed tack. I
yelled to Gavin, “Sheet the main in as hard as you can; we're going to have to jibe again!”
He silently did as bid. He was white faced, and I could tell he was as nervous as I was. I
didn't want to leave it until the very last minute, so about a hundred yards off the water's
